“Down!” she repeated, and her free hand
fell on his head again. He slunk to her feet.
But his lips were still drawn back. Thorpe was
watching him. He wondered at the deadly venom
that shot from the wolfish eyes, and looked at McCready.
The big guide had uncoiled his long dog-whip.
A strange look had come into his face. He was
staring hard at Kazan. Suddenly he leaned forward,
with both hands on his knees, and for a tense moment
or two he seemed to forget that Isobel Thorpe’s
wonderful blue eyes were looking at him.

“Hoo-koosh, Pedro—­charge!”

That one word—­charge—­was
taught only to the dogs in the service of the Northwest
Mounted Police. Kazan did not move. McCready
straightened, and quick as a shot sent the long lash
of his whip curling out into the night with a crack
like a pistol report.

“Charge, Pedro—­charge!”

The rumble in Kazan’s throat deepened to a snarling
growl, but not a muscle of his body moved. McCready
turned to Thorpe.

“I could have sworn that I knew that dog,”
he said. “If it’s Pedro, he’s
bad!”

Thorpe was taking the chain. Only the girl saw
the look that came for an instant into McCready’s
face. It made her shiver. A few minutes before,
when the train had first stopped at Les Pas, she had
offered her hand to this man and she had seen the
same thing then. But even as she shuddered she
recalled the many things her husband had told her of
the forest people. She had grown to love them,
to admire their big rough manhood and loyal hearts,
before he had brought her among them; and suddenly
she smiled at McCready, struggling to overcome that
thrill of fear and dislike.

“He doesn’t like you,” she laughed
at him softly. “Won’t you make friends
with him?”

She drew Kazan toward him, with Thorpe holding the
end of the chain. McCready came to her side as
she bent over the dog. His back was to Thorpe
as he hunched down. Isobel’s bowed head
was within a foot of his face. He could see the
glow in her cheek and the pouting curve of her mouth
as she quieted the low rumbling in Kazan’s throat.
Thorpe stood ready to pull back on the chain, but
for a moment McCready was between him and his wife,
and he could not see McCready’s face. The
man’s eyes were not on Kazan. He was staring
at the girl.

“You’re brave,” he said. “I
don’t dare do that. He would take off my
hand!”

He took the lantern from Thorpe and led the way to
a narrow snow-path branching off, from the track.
Hidden back in the thick spruce was the camp that
Thorpe had left a fortnight before. There were
two tents there now in place of the one that he and
his guide had used. A big fire was burning in
front of them. Close to the fire was a long sledge,
and fastened to trees just within the outer circle
of firelight Kazan saw the shadowy forms and gleaming